


pretend i'm something better than these broken parts

by brightwrites



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Don't Read This, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, this is just a vent fic really, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 22:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12945348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightwrites/pseuds/brightwrites
Summary: Alana sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared. And stared. And kept staring.





	pretend i'm something better than these broken parts

**Author's Note:**

> TW for self hatred and a kind of suicide attempt.

Alana was at an odd position in her social status at school. Everyone knew of her. If you walked up to any student, anyone at all, and asked them about Alana Beck, you’d get a slight frown of concentration and an “Alana? I think I know her, yeah, she’s in my AP Lit class…” or something along those lines.

But there wasn’t anyone who actually  _ knew  _ her. If you lined up everyone at school in one neat line, and one by one, asked them about, say, Alana Beck’s favourite colour, or how many siblings Alana Beck had, you’d learn absolutely nothing. Other than the fact that Alana Beck had no friends.

But Alana wanted them  _ so  _ badly. She wanted someone who would remember how the colour violet reminded her of her grandmother’s nicest dress, someone who would listen to her ramble about her baby brother and his three-year-old antics.

She’d done her best. Younger Alana had thought that if she did outstanding in her grades and extracurriculars, then you couldn’t just ignore her, could you? Surely it would be like in the movies when someone asked Alana to tutor them, and they would end up the best of friends afterwards?

It didn’t work. She was still invisible, just with excellent grades.

Then Alana had noticed that, often, people who talked a lot were popular. And an idea formed in that clever brain of hers. If she made sure that her voice was loud enough, then she’d finally be heard.

It didn’t work. She was still unheard, just obnoxious now.

_ If an invisible girl falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear her, does she even make a sound? _

 

 

Alana sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared. And stared. And kept staring.

She stared, long and hard, at the razor resting in her palm.

It glinted harshly in the bright lights of her bathroom.  _ You’re not gonna do it, _ it mocked her,  _ you’re too scared of tarnishing your perfect reputation. _

Alana wanted to feel something. She wanted to feel sad, or scared, or  _ anything,  _ but she just felt like the emotional embodiment of a blank sheet of paper. Not human enough to experience anything other than the plastic smiles and bitter masks that she kept glued to her face every day.

She was pretty sure that those masks had melded with her skin at some point, and she wasn’t certain that she would ever be able to take it off.

Alana didn’t even know if she wanted to.

She stared at the cold piece of metal in her hand until it grew warm, and the unrelenting white light above her burned into her eyes. She stared until her dad came knocking on the door to see if she was alright, and she called back in her chirpiest tone that she was fine.

It was instinct, really, at this point. It wasn’t difficult to pull up the cheery expression for a little while before letting it drop when she was absolutely sure that no one could see. Hell, it was probably easier for her to wear the mask than have to look at the ugly truth every time she walked by a mirror.

As previously stated, the mask was now permanently stitched to her face. It was easier on everyone, that way.

Alana kept her eyes fixated on the razor. She kept it still, wait, was the hand with the razor drifting closer to the other arm…?

A crash from outside the door. Alana heard her baby brother giggling madly as his tiny, stumbling footsteps ran down the hall. The razor jumped away guiltily, but remained tightly clenched between her fingers.

She sighed, getting up off the edge of the bathtub and walking stiffly over to unlock the door, carefully hiding her razor and looking around to make sure that no one would catch her with it. She strolled back to her bedroom as if nothing had happened.

Maybe one day she’ll be brave enough to do it, Alana thought as she meticulously hid the razor in a book under a floorboard under her bed, but for now, she didn’t want to ruin her family’s day.

_ Or your own perfect reputation. _

Shut up, she told the monster in her head.

_ We both know that your reputation means nothing. I mean, if it did, you’d actually have real fucking friends, wouldn’t you? _

She undressed and climbed into bed, curling up.

_ You understand that you’d actually be doing your family a favour, right? They miss you for a little bit, then go on to realize that their lives are a whole lot easier without you in it. _

If, that night, Alana Beck felt a deep ache in her stomach and had to blink back the stinging, pathetic tears that burned holes in her eyes, well, that was no one else’s business but hers.

**Author's Note:**

> You know what I really hate? When people erase Alana's issues just 'cause it doesn't fit into their story line. I love Alana Beck, and I'd really like to see her portrayed more accurately as the anxious girl she is.
> 
> On that note, please please please correct me if I've misrepresented anxiety in any way!! This is based purely off of the way real people with anxiety have described it and a tiny bit of my own creative interpretation. If you have any issues, please please please let me know!
> 
> I originally posted this as the first of four chapters, but I realized that I had no idea how to present Connor or Evan's mental illnesses, since I literally wrote this as a vent based on how I feel. Sorry guys, there won't be a happy ending to this fic.
> 
> A list of suicide hotlines, in case any of you need it: http://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines 
> 
> Hmu on tumblr, @brightwritesstuff. I'm always open to asks.


End file.
